


Richard's Tale

by AbigailPickardWrites



Series: Here's to the Villains [1]
Category: Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Disney, Fairy Tale Parody, Redemption, Robin Hood- Freeform, Short Story, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailPickardWrites/pseuds/AbigailPickardWrites
Summary: King Richard (Robin Hood)'s story, humanized and explained.THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY
Series: Here's to the Villains [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004667





	Richard's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major character death, dark, suicide, trauma, murder, child abuse, alcoholism, parental deaths, sibling deaths, terminal illness, execution

"My name is Richard, King Richard. You may know me from the story of Robin Hood. In the story, I take money from the poor in an evil manner, and when Robin stands up to me, I send the Sheriff of Nottingham to go kill him. Yeah, I'm the bad guy of the story, and I lose in the end. But who tells those stories? Exactly. Robin does, and he twists the truth, changing everything to give him a reason to go against me. Yes, I taxed the people. Yes, I sent the sheriff after Robin. Yes, I tried to kill him. No, I am NOT a villain. At least, I wasn't. This probably makes no sense. You probably wish my death to come upon me. Let me explain.

I was born on a small farm, next to a great forest in the middle of nowhere. I lived with my father and two sisters since my mom died giving birth to my younger sister. She was such a sweet lady. She had the softest voice, as if she were an angel. She loved and cared about me, and dreamed up dreams of a future for me. And my, those dreams were beautiful. She told me stories of castles, grand horses, and amazing sights to see! She always said that I am destined to become an amazing king, and maybe I was... but her death was the first mile marker on my path to evil. My memories of her are fuzzy, a blur of time forgotten, and that's probably the saddest thing about her death. I was a horrible son. Being three is no reason to forget one's own mother.

Moving past that, my father began to go to the tavern and drink after her death. He was cruel when drunk, so he often came home and beat Scarlet. Scarlet was my younger sister and by the time that father killed her she was nine, me being twelve. I recall that she was so sweet. all she wanted to do was to make us happy. She would pick daisies for Violet, my older sister by two years, and make a crown. For me, she would always save a little bit of her dinner to smuggle to me in hopes of filling my giant appetite. Scarlet was innocent, never understanding why father came home angry. After he beat her, she would run up the stairs to cry in Violet's arms. I can still hear her tiny feet hitting the wood as she came up. She always thought that she did something wrong, and felt bad when father hurt her. Despite all father did to her, she still left a daisy on his bed each night before she crawled into bed next to me and went to sleep.

I still vividly remember Scarlet's death. Father came home more drunk than usual and Scarlet was eating a small loaf of bread criss-cross-applesauce on the floor by the hearth. Violet was braiding her amber hair telling her about mother when father burst in, angry as can be. Violet and I leapt up and pushed Scarlet against the wall, backs to her, putting ourselves between her and father. I remember Scarlet's exact words. "V- Violet? Rich- Richard? I- I'm scared..." Then father pushed past Violet and I, grabbing Scarlet by the collar of her old plaid dress. Scarlet's freckled face broke right then and there. Father had grabbed the knife and... you can guess what happened next. In the end, he threw her body in the woods, not even bothering to bury her, the smallest little girl with the biggest heart. But it's Scarlet's last words that really got to me. She had said, "I'm sorry that I made daddy this angry. Make sure he stays happy, okay?" and then she was gone.

Violet and I grieved, but father would not put up with it. When he was sober again, he felt awful. Just as I, he was not a villain. He never meant to hurt Scarlet; he was drunk. He felt awful and eventually committed suicide in the woods. Violet and I didn't know, and she went looking for him, coming back with the awful news of father's death. He hung himself right next to Scarlet's body, holding her hand until the last breath. I was left with Violet.

Violet and I were sad, but not for that long. At the time I viewed my father as a monstrosity. Now, my perspective has changed. But that's another story. Violet and I kept the house in good condition. I had to wake before the sun arose and work deep into the night, my only light: the fireflies. Then I would sleep for about three hours before repeating the grueling process.

As you know, women work in the house. They knit, sew and tend to the household and children. Not Violet. She insisted that since she was the oldest, she would hunt for food, while I worked in the house. Having experienced this, I can say that society underestimates those women.

My schedule went about like this: I awoke, and cleaned the house and tended the garden until about an hour past noon. Then, I would make food from the vegetation, churn the butter, I would sew up everything that ripped (which, frankly, was a lot. And sewing was hard, I would continually stab myself really hard at the beginning of the process,) fetch ten loads of water, feed the livestock, make soap, gather and dump the chamber pots (I would nearly throw up each time,) and harvest some medical herbs. Then, sometimes I would have to run to town, twenty miles away. Of course, that's not it. Each evening, as the sky darkened, Violet would return to the house with a fresh kill.

Contrary to popular belief, women can be successful hunters, I learned that. Violet would always drag a sack of birds or sometimes, even a deer home from the woods. She truly was something else.

When she returned, which could sometimes be late in the night, she would have to go back outside and collect wood for the fire, which I would have burning continuously all day. So at this point, there were still some flames in the hearth. I would then have to prepare a dinner really fast, before the fire died out. To assist myself in this speed meal preparation, the moment I would have a spare minute throughout the day, I would immediately go and work on baking the bread and preparing the fruits and vegetables. Because of this, when Violet would come home I only had to finish preparing all the plant foods, skin the animal, cook the meat, spice the meat, finish the bread, fetch the butter, and set the table. Then I would call Violet and she would come home and we would eat. Then we would work late into the night to finish extracting everything from the animal.

First, we would drain the blood. Then we would wash the skin for me to make more clothes the next day. Violet would begin making new knives and daggers from the bones. As for the organs, we would use to feed Violet's hunting dog, Dusty, and set them by his water dish outside. Finally, if the animals caught are birds, we pluck the feathers and make pillows and arrows.

Of course, that's not where it ends. After taking the rest of animal apart, I had to clean up the mess. Then it was time for bed. I would bathe in the old wooden tub in our bedroom with some of the water I had fetched earlier, slip on my night clothes, and fall into the bed. I would always fall right asleep, unless the thought of father or Scarlet consumed my mind. I always knew Violet would wait until I was asleep before preparing herself for bed, for privacy and protective reasons. She would do things like lock up the house as well, before drifting off into the dream world.

Well, Violet and I lived this difficult lifestyle for a short while, about three years. Then, when I was 15 and Violet 17, fate decided to destroy one of its puppets that had already been tortured beyond anything you would know. One day, a pack of wolves was wandering through the forest, howling. Violet had come home with great wounds lately, as the pack had moved to these woods from the Sherwood forest. The alpha wolf must have smelt the meat, because he led the pack to our small, pitiful home.

I was helping Violet treat a nasty cut when the howl of the alpha wolf made frost creep up our spines, fear throbbed in my heart making a sharp, yet dull pain take place inside me. Violet stood and grabbed a dagger, a sword, bow, and her quiver of arrows.

I had put myself between her and the door, pressing back against the feeble wood. I remember saying, "'No! Violet, don't! You can't fend off an entire pack of wolves! Especially like that!'" and gestured towards her arm.

Then she replied in a chilling, determined voice. "'When you see the light, run as far away from it as possible.'"

And then she grabbed a match, set her jaw, raised her chin, and shoved past me, entering the yard. I stood, frozen, but not for long. I heard the horrible sounds of blades making impact with a thunk! And the noise of claws ripping flesh. I heards growls and cries, and then, I heard a crackle. And I saw the light.

The light wasn't death. Violet was not trying to tell me not to die. She meant real light, here, on planet Earth. The light was fire. Then I understood: Violet had taken things to make a fire. She knew that she couldn't do it, so she was prepared to burn everything to the ground, including herself to get me out of there.

I was a coward. I should have run into the awful and beautiful flames, dragged my sister out and died against the wolves and the deadly sources of heat. But I didn't. I ran, like Violet said. I ran into the forest, terrified, my feet hitting the dirt in time to my beating heart. The songs of wolf howls and artistic flames to pushed me forward as my heart and feet kept time. I sprinted so that the hot tears streaking across my face slid down my cheeks and past my ears, into suspension before making contact with the ground. My shallow breaths made harmony with the wolves' melody. The music moved into my soul, and I shall never forget that horrible yet enchanting siren's song.

This is when I began to turn to sin. That fire seemed to set a special flame inside my skin, a burning desire. It wasn't my fault! It was God who made Satan so much stronger than humanity! But this moment made me think: It's their turn to burn.

Looking back at the time after Violet...left... I feel remorse. I was so broken and abused by destiny, I decided I couldn't be a victim again. And the only way to do that would be stronger than everyone else. And from what I've seen during my life, like when Scarlet died, and when father felt horribly of his actions, when Violet made her final stand, I learned one thing: People with big hearts don't last long in this world. So I began to feel intense anger at the universe. My logic was that if the universe that did this to me, the entire cosmos would pay. I wanted to get even.

So I took care of myself. I ended up killing the alpha of the wolf pack, conquering nearby kingdoms, cracking down hard on the authorities, always taking down the biggest people. That made me rise to the top, king of an empire of rubble. The people felt the pain I had. That little voice inside my head kept controlling me. I wasn't a bad person, I was simply a tortured individual. I wasn't to blame, it was the world that set this flame inside me!

So much later in life, I was sitting beside my wife, the only living love I had left. She was dying, just like everything else I had ever touched. I cared about her, yes, but I didn't know the extent of how much I cared. Elizabeth, my bride, would lay in the bed all day, pale and sweaty. No one else saw it, but she was still beautiful. It sparked faint memories of my mother's end, until she begged me to stay, tears beginning to fall. She was so close to death. The apothecary said that she would need a miracle cure. But there was one, a plant of which only one remained, but it belonged to another man far away, and it would take more gold than would ever exist in the royal vault to buy it. The only good left in me refused to steal it. I had to get enough riches to possess this cure for my wife, the only thing that keeps me on Earth.

So I taxed the people. I would find so much delight when the tax collectors would come back with bags of gold, all of which I would count over and over, so happy to be raising my funds to save Elizabeth even if we didn't have the strongest of bonds, or so I thought.

I'm getting ahead of myself, about after her tragic conclusion.

Well, my people were poor, but I guess I didn't care. I wanted my last family, not them. That was all I wanted. I would pray to whatever God was out there each night, "Please! Let me keep this last family... just this one...'" And, maybe I would have saved her, if it wasn't for Robin Hood. He would steal the money away. And I would mourn. Robin would know of my tears and go to the village, telling stories of how I missed the coins.... But that wasn't it. I wanted to save Elizabeth. Well, this glorified thief kept "'Stealing from the rich, and giving to the poor.'" Tell me, people of this kingdom, how am I to save Elizabeth when he continues this behavior? I couldn't. And as long as Hood continued to breathe, he was guaranteeing that Elizabeth wouldn't, very, very soon. So, yes, I sent the Sheriff of Nottingham after Robin, with an execution in mind. He escaped time and time again, telling of his victory. But did he tell you about my terrible fate? Or Elizabeth's? OF ANYTHING? No. He... he didn't. You were only half informed, on one end of the story.

It wasn't too long later when Elizabeth left me, and life, behind. I hope she is happy. I didn't realize until after she was dead how much I loved her. I couldn't reflect on happy memories. It brought pain, not joy. My heart would hurt beyond belief, to the extent that I was tempted by death to take my own life. The kingdom lights would shine out in the night, before dying, like Beth. My crown had no meaning, the palace was nothing. I didn't feel like I ruled the world. I remember when she died, I went out into the cold night air to the balcony overlooking my empire and Sherwood Forest. I trembled, trying to remain strong and keep the tear inside my soul from consuming me. But my grief spilled out in weeping, uncontrollable tears each hitting the cold stone balcony. My heart nearly fell out of my chest, as if it really were a weight inside me. Robin knew, he was about to steal more jewels and gold. He celebrated his winning. He laughed at my defeat. You worship him as a hero. Bet he never told you he killed my wife. Bet he never mentioned that he was the reason I died inside. But he didn't care. He still doesn't.

On that night I mourned my wife, I thought of my little baby daughter. Didn't know I had one? That's because I was afraid Hood may target her. But that's besides the point. I imagined she would point to paintings of her mother and I would have to tell her that her name was Elizabeth your mother, she was dead, and... she wants you to be happy. She's older now. I sent her away. Why? Now that you know the truth, do you think the thief would have spared her due to her innocence?

But that is all history. My fate is set in stone. Do as you must."

I concluded my life story and looked over at all the men that sided with the Sheriff of Nottingham, ready to be hung. Then my gaze averted to the crowd, jury if you please, standing around for the hanging. Robin Hood, Maid Marian, and the "Merry Men" all stood, listening as judges. Robin looked incredibly nervous, as he deserved to be. My acquaintance, Marian's eyes reflected more than usual, brewing tears shining in the sunlight. The Merry Men looked shocked and a little indignant, as well as defensive. But the people of the village had tears in their eyes, but angry expressions, and a tinge of doubt. Not surprising, people want to believe what makes them happy.

Robin looked at the two men, holding my restraints. "Do it!"

The man on my right gave the order that I had been dreading, "Say it."

The crowd watched with tensity as I bowed my head and said in a clear and broken voice, "Long live King Robin Hood."

With those words of looming submission, I was taken to the gallows, and being the last in line, was slipped in the final noose. I would not cave to Robin Hood. I refuse to be remembered as the King that bowed to Hood. It would tarnish my legacy and effect that of Scarlet, of Violet, of Elizabeth, of my dear daughter that I couldn't bare letting go, and of my father. So before the floor beneath me fell out, I shouted out to the monstrosity, "Soon, it will be your execution, Robin Hood."

The floor fell out.

It was about time I died.


End file.
